Children of Legend
by ChiyonoSake
Summary: Story based a couple centuries after the events of the flameseeker prophecies. Rated T for cursing, drunken stone dwarfs, and the improper use of magic. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Old Statues

It is not often that a lone man travels the realm of Jormag. The dangers there are endless. Great wurms, elemental beasts, and the bitter cold claim most who dare traverse the frozen lands. Some would call those to be the lucky ones. "Better to have your body ripped apart by a snow wurm than to have your soul ripped away, only to become one of the dragon's new abominations of snow and ice," they would say, warning those not to venture far into the icy north.

Bundled in layers of thick hides and soft furs, Dassk Wade searched the white landscape. He has not seen a human for months, but he did meet some Norn last week. A wurm shot up through the ground below, sending him soaring through the air. All kids dream of flying. It was not all he had hoped for.

He was found, contorted and battered yet not altogether dead, by a Norn hunting party that was tracking the wurm. They got him to one of their settlements and gave him a bed to rest. They dressed his wounds and fed him. He recovered in the cold while exploring their cozy encampment built into the side of a mountain. He felt short, weak, and overdressed, though he was not made a spectacle. _Forget flying_, thought Dassk, _If only I had their tolerance for cold, I wouldn't be burdened with ten pounds of grawl fur_!

On his fifth day at the Norn camp, he gathered his things and set out to continue his search. The Norn at the gate tried to dissuade him. They told him not to go so far north, that even Norn do not travel the area in parties of less than six. The gatekeeper smiled as he walked past. Apparently, the Norn understood him better than Humans.

Dassk was glad when he left his homeland. He felt as isolated there as he does out here. The new Warmarshal at Ebonhawke said he found a message from his predecessor. Dassk was told that there was something he must find, here, in the far northern reaches near the coldest of mountains. He would wager the Warmarshal just found an excuse to be rid of him. The ice welcomes him, people do not.

Shifting his third and fourth fur overcoat to better retain the heat, the frigid traveler finally arrived at his destination. Amidst the frozen lake, Dassk could see a giant building. From afar, the massive structure appeared to be abandoned, yet as he reached it, there seemed to be a sort of warmth from within.

The young traveler spent the next hour banging his shoulder into the door, chipping at an icy hinge with his knife, and cursing loudly. Eventually he opened the heavy doors enough to squeeze himself through.

It was impressive enough. The walls were large and ostentatious. It must have taken a long time to build. Dassk did not feel the need to linger in the outer chamber. He never had much care architecture, so long as it held sturdy and was sealed well enough to impede the cold. For all its flamboyant ornate design, someone decided to build this room with an open ceiling. Did they not realize they were building it in an eternal winter? He felt eager to enter the main chamber.

Dassk fell hard as he toppled into the inner chamber. He ran, expecting once again to have to barrel open doors that were frozen stiff. As he got up, rubbing the numb spot where his arm should hurt, he looked into darkness. This room did not have an open ceiling to allow for light, but there must be some way to rid the chamber of darkness.

Dassk felt around until he bumped into a loose branch. _Duh, _thought Dassk_, A torch! _He wrapped his outermost layer of fur around the branch and made use of what little magic he knew. Though he couldn't actually create fire, he could concentrate enough to make sparks. Its barely suitable to impress the children, but it is sufficient to catch fur aflame. Dassk Wade was momentarily pleased as he saw his impromptu torch light the room. His glee was short lived as the fire spread quickly to a nearby tapestry. It burned quickly. It looked expensive.

It did allow enough light for Dassk to see a nearby brazier, which he guiltily lit as the fine tapestry was quickly consumed by the flame. The new light allowed for a better look at his hand held lighting fixture. It was not a torch. It was a flaming fur coat wrapped around a half burnt bow. He rushed to put out the flame. The bow now had its only use as kindling and the tapestry was all but non existent. _Oh well_, he thought still feeling a bit guilty, _no one will know but me_.

With the newfound light, Dassk looked where he grabbed the wooden bow and found a vast collection of artifacts, mostly weapons, arranged in a display with plaques and labels beneath them.

There was a single empty display. The plaque said, "Here lies the bow of Urgoz, spiritual demon of the Echovald Forest." Dassk looked down in despair at the scorched piece of wood to his side.

He moved sheepishly on towards the next display. Shiro's daggers! Now excited he enigmatically stalked from one display to another. Next he saw an am fah mask, a margonite chest piece, a sunspear's spear, and a shield of the mursaat. The next bow he recognized with a chill. He did not need to read the label below. "Here lies the Ironwing Flatbow of Beta Ray Wade."

Dassk knows of this legendary archer all too well. He has seen the painting of Beta Ray Wade wielding this fabled bow in the lost ring of fire islands, traveling with a small group of heroes to fight the Lich Lord, who unleashed the Titans on the lands of Tyria. Dassk's mother named him after this warrior. He has been ridiculed since he was a child about someone he never believed to exist until now.

His eyes grew wide, frantic at his newfound realization, and he saw a sparkle in his peripherals. He was disappointed to find that the glimmer of light originated from a celestial longbow, taken from the distant lands of Cantha, and not the Legendary Stormbow he used when he fought The Great Destroyer. Dassk took a moment to calm himself. Perhaps some of the stories could be true, not all of them of course, embellishments gaining grandiosity as time passes. Despite his disclaimer, here were the artifacts that seemed to hint towards these tales' veracity.

Onward he moved to the next display. This contained various sets of armor. In the center was the dragonscale armor of Beta Ray Wade, crafted from the remains of the undead dragon known as Rotscale. To its side he saw a set of Druid armor and a set of fur armor, likely the very set of armor he wore in these very regions!

Daskk began to wonder about this place. Could it be some sort of monument build to pay homage to this historical figure, or was it something more, something that has somehow kept itself isolated from the filth and decay that seems to have taken hold of the rest of Tyria.

His answers would be revealed at the next display. If this was some sort of monument, then they would not have made this shrine. Tittles, deeds, historical records, and maps of planed routes with hand drawn buildings and locations. This is the real proof that the legendary heroes existed, conformation that this isn't just some sort of monument. This was a place where the hero must have spent a lot of time. Before him lies the plans to strike an assault at heart of The Great Destroyer.

Dassk moved on to the statues on the far side. The plaque on the bottom shined _Hall of Fellowship_.

The statues were skillfully carved containing lifelike intricate detail. There was the great warrior, Tzimite Dreadlord, the wizard Arkillius Deathmage, and the famed paragon Wonko the Sane. There was also an unknown dwarf that seemed to be missing the label below where it should say his name. Dassk looked to the side to see the hero's greatest companion, one of the great white moa's which are now extinct. He looked at the plaque below in anticipation to read the name that has been lost to records. "Birdie." Dassk thought it to be a stupid name. Oh well perhaps the man was too busy saving the world and such, so his lapse in creativity could be forgiven.

Onward he moved to a pool in the center of the room. There was a thick liquid in the center. It looked to be a pool of melted iron, yet flowed thin as water. Dassk saw shadows form and light bend. He bent down to take a look closer. There was an image forming in the center of the strange liquid.

"You look just like him, you know." A raucous voice bellowed throughout the hall. It sounded like a sword scraping granite. Dassk had assumed he was alone in the room, the door was shut and hadn't been opened for generations. He looked around. No one was there. _Am I hearing things,_ he thought. His face was contorted; his eyes held bewilderment.

"My apologies." Dassk could still not tell where the voice came. It echoed throughout the chamber.

Frantically looking around, Dassk reached for his knife to the side of his boot. "Show yourself," he cried.

"It is I, over here." Dassk sought the sound of scrapping stone. To his amazement, one of the statues in the _Hall of Fellowship_ began moving. "Ahh," the statue groaned. "I seem to be a bit stiff. I have not moved for some time. There are not exactly visitors here."

"A stone dwarf!" shouted Dassk, still clutching his knife, too excited to notice his grip still held. "They are told about in legends but I thought it was just some exaggeration of the truth. And wait, what did you say?"

"I said you look like him," the stone dwarf said, apparently less rigid, now able to raise an arm to point to the statue of Beta Ray Wade in his preferable sets of armor. Dassk walked over and took a moment to examine these statues closer. He actually did bear quite a resemblance to the hero of legend.

"And what do you intend to imply by saying that?" Dassk said cautiously.

"Nothing really," said the dwarf, now able to raise his legs. He began slowly moving off the platform with the other statues. Dassk wondered if they would start moving as well. The stone dwarf tried not to let his gaze linger on the burnt bow and tapestry. Dassk look down abashedly. "We dwarfs, we see things, and we tell people what we see. Everybody else takes too close a look at what we say. I say you look like him. That is all there is to it. Just a simple observation from an old dwarf."

"Right," Daskk retorted.

"And now I see some strange visions forming in the Scrying Pool over here." The dwarf looked more limber now, he freely strolled down the stairs to the room's center, which held the mysterious liquid. Dassk joined him. There were indeed images that were coming into focus. Dassk thought he saw a baby.

"That must be you," said the dwarf. "Let's see what it wants to show you."


	2. 2 The First Vision

Chapter 2 – The First Vision

Gliding across the infinite sands, Dassk slithered forward seeking to escape the eternal cries of a young baby. The human child did not calm, weeping and howling and cursing inaudible babble. There was no end. Only with divine light, the healing power bestowed upon Dassk by the goddess of air, did the baby relent, if only momentarily. _Humans are enduring_, thought Dassk. _It is no wonder they can wreak such calamity_.

He flowed divine energy through the baby once more and was rewarded with a welcomed silence. Dassk has been healing more frequently; the baby's condition must be worsening. Mother must be found quickly.

This task was forced upon Dassk by the human child's father who came upon his camp on the southern edge of the Crystal Desert. They had set up a rough fortification to defend against the countless swarms of undead attacking under the command of their king, Lord Joko. The warrior claims to have lifted the baby from the grasp of Joko himself.

He may have been sincere. A devastating raid came upon them on the following day. Palawa Joko was there in command.

The warrior was amazing to watch in battle. His blade cleaved through shield and armor and bone alike; the fort would have been easily captured without him. He met the undead lord in battle and wounded him, and ultimately, actuating their retreat.

Unfortunately the warrior was wounded as well. He traded blows with the undead lord and his blood was left a black corrupted ink. The power of the goddess of the light could not make him flow human blood. Dassk was there when he died. He asked him one thing. "The boy needs a mother," the weakened warrior pleaded. After what he did on the battlefield, sparing his companions from the wrath of the undead lord, Dassk vowed to do everything he could to see that the boy was found a proper mother.

Dassk cursed those words. He knew it was the right thing to do, and though it would have pained him to deny the final request from a man of such apparent greatness, but what was he to do now. He got caught in the moment. He knows nothing about human offspring. As one of the Forgotten, he knows very little about mothers. Forgotten are not a race of two genders. Only one mother is known to them. It is said that she resides within a single grain of sand.

The Great Mother only grants an audience to those she deems worthy. Dassk could only hope that his years of faithful service would be enough to help fulfill promise.

Dassk had always retreated to a seclusive statue in the Salt Flats when he sought a sort of silent guidance from Mother. When he arrived this time, gripping the irritable crying baby, he found Apohk waiting for him. Blue, jagged, and as reflective as only the purest ice could manage, Apohk perched atop a rock near the statue.

As Dassk slid closer, the constant fluttering of sand that lingers in the air of the desert lay stagnant. Apohk could be seen more clearly now. He looked regal yet dauntless and as welcoming as one should, being the third born of Glint's hatchlings. He did not hesitate. "Come." His voice boomed over the crying baby. "She waits."

Dassk coiled himself around the surprisingly warm dragon, gripping the baby firmly yet not tightly enough cause more accursed crying. Apohk rose. Each flap of his massive wings ascended further, each rise another step progressing higher on the ladder up towards the stars. The statue of Mother soon looked small and insignificant. Dassk gazed in wonder at the Shiverpeak Mountains from their incredible distance. In the sandbox below, only the scattered remains of Giganticus could be seen amongst the golden desert. _This how a dragon views the world_.

Asohk compressed his wings and they fell. The landscape hurled toward them. Dassk closed his eyes. They entered the sand as a pebble entering water. The baby stopped crying.

Upon opening his eyes, Dassk met Glint's direct gaze. She had a stare like no other; Dassk had known no fear until this moment. He wanted to weep, but it was the baby who began crying. Dassk instinctively cast his divine light through the small child.

One of Glint's wings twitched in response to this. It was subtle, but Dassk managed to recognize. _Had I insulted her? Was it rude to cast a simple spell before one of such power?_ Dassk immediately cut the flow of energy to the baby. Moments later the baby began to cry again. Glint turned her head to the side a bit and then walked closer to them.

Dassk panicked. Thus occurred the first bow in the history of the forgotten. Dassk had seen some human do it as a sign of what he believed to be submission. It was awkward and looked as if his back coil was trapped in some brush and he was struggling to get it loose. During this process, he nearly hit the baby's head on the jagged landscape of the Dragon's lair.

Glint paused once more. The Dragon's spoke with a voice that was both gentle and sweet. "At ease Dassk Arossyss. You have served me well these many years." The forgotten was overjoyed with a sense of accomplishment. Dassk's pride collapsed as her tone then became harsh and bitter. "Take care. You shall not cripple the child because your are too feeble in the knowledge of humans."

Glint looked to her side as Apohk came stalking into the lair. Dassk had not seen him leave; he had done little in the way of taking his eyes off Mother since the entry into her chamber. Apohk's movement seemed clumsy and awkward next to Mother. Now she was resplendent and Apohk was menial. Dassk felt utterly insignificant.

Apohk took the baby over to a pool of what appeared to be similar to water in the corner of the chamber. Glint lectured Dask. "The baby is not ill. Humans need nourishment to survive. The baby is weak. You would have healed the baby to death in another day. Tell me how you came by this child?"

Her words cut deeper than any foe he had ever faced. Dassk's feeling of worthlessness now mingled with embarrassment. Dassk morosely told of the human warrior's exploits and of his promise.

Dassk fell. The dwarf's hard, cold hands helped him to his feet, only to catch him as he fell forward once more. He watched as the human surveyed his surroundings erratically. Eventually he met the Dwarf's stone eyes. "I was him," Dassk proclaimed and then appeared to catch himself. "I mean, I know I was the baby, but I felt as if I was the other Dassk. You know, the serpent."

Dassk struggled to his feet and placed one hand down on the figure to his side. The support was enough to balance him for the moment. "Even now I have to tell myself that I cannot simple glide forward as one of the Forgotten."

"I know, young Dassk Wade." The stone dwarf was calm and sounded unsurprised. "It is as it was with your predecessor. It seems as though you've inherited more than your ancestor's height." A raucous laugh echoed off the high ceiling. By the time it cascaded down and reached the floor Dassk was looking at his unusual new friend.

With his identity crisis nearly complete, Dassk had finally attained full control of his more basic motor skills. He knelt down and became level with his companion. "Who are you, really, and what do you know of Beta Ray Wade?"

"The name's Arin Shinsbane," the dwarf forced out as his chuckling dwindled down. "And I can tell you this. I know a lot more about Beta Ray Wade than anyone who's yet to feel the touch of your Grenth. And if my memory is keeping well, Beta would have known better then to ask me so many questions without a proper helping of ale on the table in front of us."


	3. 3 Chunks of Stone

Chapter 3 – Chunks of Stone

The wind was cut by sharp corners of rock and ice. It roared, briefly, a shrill cry, an agonizing last breath. The concave mountain amplified the the wind blowing through the mountains, a resonating chill blasting the frigid camp. The incessant hum masked the subtle sounds of life in the frozen lands.

There weren't many creatures scrambling through the white snow. Only the scavengers too stupid or desperate to think they could go unnoticed by the Norn. Half a spansfield away, through the dark night, the lookouts knew of the giant wurmling slowly creeping toward to their camp It sought the noise and the warmth, too young and ignorant to realize it was coming upon a camp full of Norn. Their archers would have little trouble hitting the imp silently stalking the wurmling.

They could, but they would not. A Norn would not interfere with a predator and their prey. It would not be honorable. That is, of course, unless they were the hunters. Besides, the imp would take the wurmling and be on its way. It would not be so foolish as to wander into the camp. Only a Human would be that brash.

Fortunately, the Norn welcomed his arrival. Dassk returned to the frozen encampment a champion. He traversed the depths of Jormag's frozen lands and came back alive. "That was cause enough for celebration," said Olaus Asgardson, who Dassk might have decided was the leader of this northern expedition. Next to him sat, Lika Strongfoot, slayer of the Elgen Beast, daughter of Jontor Cragier. Beside her sat Dongir Quickskull, crafter of Aelainmount, descendant of Olaf. Dassk recited the lengthy lists in his head. _These blasted Norn boast more than Humans!_

There was a celebration. Some Norn were fishing in the icy lake, and they ran into a Jotun patrol. There was a fight. The Norn won. They brought back some fish, some gold, and some rough minotaur tusks. The party began a few hours before Dassk and Arin arrived. Dassk became the guest of honor when he came back with the stone Dwarf. They sat at the biggest table, which was relocated so Dassk could sit closer to the fire pit. He wondered if Arin could even feel the heat.

The fire's warmth allowed Dassk to remove some of the various furs and grawl hides he was using to keep warm. He still wore a few layers. His massive fur cloak was pulled tight. The Norn wore small patches of leather. They looked as though they wore the hides as a matter of fashion, exposing their skin to the bitter cold. Their fire was for light, not warmth.

Arin was treated as if he were Dassk's trophy. The Dwarf didn't seem to mind, but it still gave Dassk an awkward feeling. It's all for the best, he decided. Otherwise, neither would be able to pay for all the ale the he consumed.

The Dwarf told tales by the crackling fire. He spoke of an age that had come and gone, centuries past, when the hair of his beard was soft and when his heart pumped warm blood. He told the tales of his battles. He spoke of Dwarfs, of Humans, and of large mythical creatures. His voice sung, horribly, Dwarfen hymns and battle cries.

The Norn loved his company. He filled their hearts with brave words and epic fights; they kept his mug full. It looked awfully silly in his small stone hands. When standing, Arin's head was about level with Dassk's waist, whose head merely reached the chest of most Norn. The Norn mug was about the size of one of the Dwarf's thick, stocky legs.

Dassk let his eyes wander. The Norn talked and ate. Some shouted and drank. Their bodies moved in elaborate gestures with every word. Each step was taken with a large Norn confidence, striding casually, knowing everything else was responsible for moving from their path.

There was a ring near the edge of the camp set for wrestling matches. With all the drinking, there were many who wanted to prove their strength. Crowds gathered to watch and cheer. The winner was praised. The looser, forgotten. That is the way of the Norn.

With all the motion throughout the camp, it was no surprise to find his eyes come to focus on the one who sat still. He was startled to find a beautiful young woman. She could not be mistaken for a female Norn. This woman was small, even for a Human, and her skin was pale enough to blend into the snow behind her.

She wore clothing that was tight fitting yet short, cut about knee length, like a riding dress made to allow ample movement of the arms and legs. Most of her arms were bare. Dassk growled angrily his furs. _Am I the only one bothered by this accursed cold!_

Dassk collected himself with a deep breath. She must be some sort of sorceress. Sometimes they are immune to the typical limitations of the Human body. Some are timid around those who have mastery over the elemental arts, but Dassk spent enough time in battle to know their value. He only wished that he had more of a talent for it. Then, perhaps, at least he would not have freeze.

Her isolation was a bit disconcerting. Dassk realized that not only were the overly hospitable Norn allowing her solitude, something they have yet to grant himself, but they seemed to be avoiding her.

The Norn walked over to her, produced a plate, and left without a word. Did they not recognize that she is a woman of power? _She should be here, at the main table instead of me, _thought Dassk._ No doubt she has accomplished greater feats than I._ After all, renown is currency among Norn.

A warm hand touched the fur on Dassk's shoulder. He turned to see much of the table looking at him "The Humans have grown more heroic, as of late," The young Lika remarked, tilting her chin upward and glancing over to Dassk. "You are not the only Human to attract to our notice. Tell me," she continued, further exaggerating her pose. "Have you heard the deeds of this Logan Thackeray?"

Dassk sighed. He could count the hairs up her nose. Norn spend little time grooming. They must be unaware of how unflattering some of their gestures look to the races with an upward angle. "I know Thackeray," Dassk managed to grind the words out.

Lika, oblivious to his obvious distaste for the man, smiled and goaded more from him. "Tell us what you know of him."

"I know," groaned Dassk, "of his dented armor. He would come off the field battered and sullen. His armor would go to the smith every night. The next morning it was bright and shining. He would ride off the next morning, gallant, with his back upright, staring off towards the battlefield as if it were calling him. Thats how he hoped the people looked at him anyway. I rode next to him one morning. My assortment of leather, linen, and hides made his armor shine even brighter. We came back that evening after a particularly rough day. He had metal eagle wings decorating his shoulder piece, ha," Dassk produce a smug grin. "It was bashed right in."

"I saw him again years later, during the Ashford raids, and I tell him that I can't believe the old armor hasn't been smashed to bits. Apparently he got a mystic to do this runic insignia thing to it. Now the armor damn near buffs itself while he's on the battlefield! We'd be fighting in a pile a mud and his chest plate is still shining away. I fought in those raids with nothing more than tightly woven minotaur hides. It actually taught me how to avoid a Char's blade." Dassk exhaled deeply as his rant came to a conclusion.

Arin gasped for air as he slammed his mug down on the table. Dongir refilled it quickly. Arin spoke loudly, "Ah. So the Char are still around are they? I was pulling for them. Good fighters they are. Like these Norn. But they don't make good ale like these Norn does."

The alcohol was so thick a barrier that Arin could not see the vile glare that Dassk threw about. "You were pulling for them!" Dassk shouted. "The Char are horrid!" The Norn traded worried expressions. "I remember when I was a kid. When the walls were quaking from whatever weapon they decided to hurl at us that night. I would pray to whatever god would listen. I prayed hard, so that I would not end up in one of their pots." Dassk turned to Arin and barked, "How can you say that you were pulling for them!"

"Ah yes," Arin spoke calmly. "They can be very brutal. I did say they were good fighters, did I? And they had a nasty thing for you humans. We were caught in between at times. Ha," the dwarf laughed. "They ripped right through us!"

Arin erupted into a deeper fit of laughter. Dassk was confused and bewildered. The Char bring their fire and destruction. It is not something to laugh about.

When the stone Dwarf finally settled down, his words came slowly. "We all owe our lives to the Char. When the destroyers came, they almost sided with them. If that happened, I don't think the Great Dwarf would have been able to save us then. But a few good Char stood against them, joined up with Beta himself. Only then we were able to dispose of those foul creatures." Arin looked around. The Norn around him were quiet and listened intently. He found this rather uncharacteristic and unsettling. "Beta found some Norn to join up with too."

The Norn cheered. The drunken yelling began anew. Dassk felt alone amidst the cheers and yelling. He sat quiet, isolated, yet at the heart of the crowd. He felt alone.

_They are good fighters, I'll give them that,_ Dassk thought meekly while those around him hollered in glee. He'd likely hate the Norn as he did the Char if they were the ones to shake his castle walls.

"Beta was really something. I gather that the world would have fallen to the shadow a few times without him." Arin was still for a moment, recalling old times. He gave some laughs and was back to the party. "But enough about your ancestry." Arin grinned and paused for a moment. He knew that would impress the Norn. "Tell me something I don't know about the lands today. What of the Dwarfs?"

Dassk looked down, there was not much to say. Arin was the first Dwarf that he met, stone or flesh. "Humph. Well Dwarfen stone is used for magic. It is ground up into a powder, I think."

Arin's eyes widened. "Thats grotesque!"

"Yea. I guess it really is when you think about it." Dassk never thought the stone Dwarfen statues were once living statues. He figured Dwarfen stone was just a magical type of rock or something. Like instead of granite, it was Dwarfen. "An ounce of the powder goes for about a hundred gold crowns in Divinity's Reach."

Arin grinned. "My ass is worth more than its weight in gold!" His impish smile creased further. "We could have some real fun when someone tries to collect on that bounty." He gave a few hoarse chuckles followed by the stare that can only be made by one trying to think with ample quantities of alcohol in their system. His eyes widened. "If this Dwarfen stone is worth as much as you say, then I think it's about time I had a little trim. My hair is getting a bit lengthy in back. We'll need a chisel, but no one touches the beard!"

Arin's voice became quiet and his eyes shifted from side to side. "It would take a lot for me to trim my beard. I could never bear the shame of a little beard."

"Actually, I heard that if you cut the tips, it grows faster." Dassk replied without thinking, staring off to the women by herself. She is barely wearing any clothes! She is not layered in the furs and hides Dassk is troubled with. He looks at the dwarf, also unperturbed by the frigid environment.He sighed.

"Really!" Arin responded with excitement. "It grows faster! So your telling me that I could cut off the tips, sell them for gold, and that would make my beard even longer!"

Dassk looked back at the dwarf. He was lost in the soft pale skin of the women across the camp. "Umm, Yea. I guess so." Arin looked back up at him in his full inebriated attention. "Well, that's how it works with Humans anyway. I'm not really sure how it works with Dwarfs." He began to realize the absurdity of his statement. "I'm even less sure of how it would work with stone Dwarfs."

Arin told a story of a runt that was bullied. Her beard was cut. Eventually it grew and then she grew bigger than almost all the other dwarfs. "I, like most Dwarfs," he said, "haven't had a trim in all my life. That must be why hers grew! My beard will get bigger and I will get stronger and I will get rich while I do it!" Arin had gotten so excited that he jumped up onto the bench. He now stood about a head taller than Dassk, who was still sitting down.

Arin now looked down at him. His stone beard beard rest on his chest as neatly as Dongier's beard on his chest. Moments ago it held down on Arin's chest while it was looking up at him. If he was truly stone then his beard should be still. Dassk reached over to touch his beard. It was as stiff as it was then. Arin shouted, "Hey that's prime merchandise!"

"Haha," Dassk laughed, bewildered. "You are amazing!"

Arin looked confused by this. Dassk explained further. "The way you walk. You talk. Even the way you drink baffles me. Your mouth is hard stone, yet ale flows through easily."

"I'll say," Arin said smiling broadly. "And I can prove it." Dassk watched as Arin emptied another large Norn mug down his throat. When he finished, Dassk touched the small cave past the dwarfs lips. It was as solid as the mountain the Norn encampment was built on.

Dassk smiled back in wonder. "I know. You've been proving it all night."

"Arha haha," Olaus roared. "Indeed he has!" He put a large, burly arm around Dassk and pointed at Arin. The Norn was still sitting, yet he was at eye level with the little statue standing on the table. "I would never believe that one as small as you could drink as you have tonight."

"Speaking of which," Arin rose and stumbled towards the edge of the camp.

Dassk took the opportunity to escape the crowd. The warm shuffling feet had melted the snow in the main area of the camp, but it was still frozen hard beneath his feet. He walked straight to the lone woman. As he stepped closer to her, a strange feeling came over him. Perhaps it was the cold; he should have grabbed his thick overcoat. Dassk pulled the thick fur hood over his head.

Her hair was black silk, cut short in the back and longer in the front, like two canticles protecting the ears. The ears were odd. Though larger, they did not stick out to the side. They curled upwards, ending in a point, nearly reaching the top of her head. Her dress was green and fibrous, intricately woven about her body, tightly encapsulating her petite figure. This was not a woman at all.

He walked closer and could hear words mouthed under her breath. Something seemed wrong. The camp reeked of drunken Norn, yet now, the air felt fresh, like the smell of an iris field in springtime, far beyond the nauseating stench of concentrated populations. Her pale skin shinned, exposed delicately to the cold. Dassk shifted uncomfortably in his dead animal skin. He winced. A pocket of air reminded him of how long it had been since he last bathed.

He wondered if he had done something wrong, simply by being near her. Dassk certainly felt that her clean little area had been soiled by his presence. Now he understood why the Norn avoided her.

Her eyes were closed. Perhaps she had not yet noticed him. Dassk clenched his cloak tighter and turned to leave. She opened her eyes and Dassk froze. She spoke softly, "The frost blossoms, they sing for you."

Dassk could barely hear her, but he dared not get any closer. Fortunately she spoke again, this time louder, "They sing of a creature hard and smooth, as jade, yet warm to the touch. This is not one of Jarmag's frozen abominations. It is seeking a man. This creature will bring them harm if he does not come." She looked up to him as if just noticing him standing before her. "This man is tall and his hair is the color of fresh snow. His years are few, yet his face is ancient. Legendary."

A grin slid across Dassk's face in amusement. "That is an interesting riddle."

The lady glided closer before speaking, "I am Adara." He watched her arm gracefully float toward his head and let down the hood of his cloak, revealing his scraggly white mane. "And you must be Dassk. The simplest answer to most riddles are often overlooked." She smiled back at him. He admired her smile, she had yet to show it all night.

Adara closed her eyes and mouthed inaudible words once more. Dassk stepped back alarmed. "Fear not," she instructed. "I cast no spells."

One of her long ears twitched as they heard a loud bang behind Dassk. He turned to see a vast assortment of metal clattering together. Dassk watched Arin fumble with the recently fallen swords, bows, and axes from the weapons rack he had knocked onto the ground. He struggled to his feet and stumbled a few steps before bending over. The stone Dwarf heaved. It came out chunky and hard. Dassk gasped as the rough yellow beads sprinkled onto the snow.

The rough sound of stone rubbing stone filled the cold air as the Dwarf wiped his mouth. Arin saw him and called out, apparently feeling much better already. "Hey Dassk, do you think this has any of that Dwarfen magic stuff? Haha, we're gunna make a fortune!" Arin's head wobbled loose, contrary to the apparent stiffness of his arms and legs. Bracing himself, he reached up, grabbing hold to the hip of a nearby Norn. His eyes settled on Adara. "Ah, good. You've finally talked to the lass you've been ogling all night. We can't leave early. I may need the morning to," he paused to find a suitable word. "Recover."

Arin pulled a pouch from his stone pocket and collected his _Dwarfen magic_. He was careful not to touch the jagged chunks of stone with his fingers. He tied the pouch tightly, and it disappeared back into the stone depths of his pocket. Arin grabbed another large Norn mug of ale.


	4. 4 Interesting Creatures

Chapter 4 – Interesting Creatures

"Why are you laughing?" Adara asked Dassk.

He turned to look at the inquisitive sylvari laboring through the snow beside him. Dassk felt he had finally broken through her detached shroud of mystery. There were so many other questions she wanted to ask, yet now, due to his random laughter, he finally felt like she was admitting she didn't know everything. "Is it our unfortunate guide, leading the way below?" She giggled a bit at the thought.

Dassk stopped to watch the snow shifting ahead, indicating exactly where the stone dwarf tunneled in front of them. The massive snowstorm, which left several feet of fresh snow atop the mountainous terrain, made the trip difficult for Arin. Adara and Dassk had enough trouble struggling to walk through the snow, sinking down to their knees on occasion, but ultimately, able to move freely on top.

Arin was just too heavy. He maneuvered himself to the bottom of light snow in much the same way as a fish maneuvers itself to the bottom of air. Though he and Adara spent much of the day laughing about it, Dassk was amused by Arin in a different way at the moment.

He forced out a weak chuckle. "Yea," Dassk lied. "I still find it too absurd to do anything but laugh." Dassk could be just as evasive about his unique talents as she was about hers.

Her eyes had betrayed her. They held calm during the windy snowstorm. Dassk could barely keep one eye open, even when shielded by his arm, hoping he could at least manage to see well enough to keep his footing, so as not to stumble atop finicky loose snow. When Dassk realized that the snow did not press itself into her eyes, he kept a close watch on her. Not a single flake of white snow clung to her dark dress.

After the storm, when the winds calmed and the snow dunes found steady places to rest, Dassk looked at her dark dress. There was not a single flake of white snow clinging to the fibrous fabric. He shook the snow out from his fur cloak and asked how her dress remained unscathed. She became defensive and quiet. She rarely spoke with him again until he started making fun of Arin digging through the snow.

Dassk decided not to press further. He understood all too well why one would keep a hidden talent hidden. After all, a hidden talent is harder to account for, and although she came on this journey willingly, she still remained suspicious of her companions.

But this is not the real reason most people kept their powers a secret. The truth is, once people know that you are unique, truly special, they treat you different. Whether they do it out of jealousy, astonishment, or outright fear, it never feels good, not to be set as an outcast.

Dassk remained moderately intrigued, but he did not wish to get her upset. Besides, she was enjoying being the mysterious one in their strange little party, just as Arin was enjoying his tunnel through the snow. Perhaps it has brought him back to memories of his youth, digging new passages below the ancient lands of Deldrimor.

He wasn't sure if he was born with it or whether something happened when he was young, but he was gifted. Dassk can read people completely and unfathomably well. Enough so that he spent his youth isolated. No one treated him particularly good or bad, just indifferent. They did their best to avoid him, fearing that he would reveal their secrets. Some even thought that he would lie about things that they hadn't done just because the warmarshel would believe him. _Idiots_, Dassk thought, _like I actually gave a damn_.

Arin shouted at his fortune when he stumbled across a rock big enough to climb out of his fluffy white prison. Dassk and Adara joined him. From this nice vista, they could see that the valley wind had blown the snow clear on the frozen ice before the giant monument. "How strong do you think that ice is?" Dassk teased the stone dwarf.

"Strong enough and you know it," Arin responded with a hint of irritation. "Nothing has been through that ice since well before my time." Arin looked at Adara who was noticeably trying not to laugh. "What?" he pleaded.

"Actually, a dragon came through the ice in a lake somewhere around here." Dassk met her eyes and she smiled.

"I'm smaller than a dragon," the dwarf said, tracing his hand along his beard, scraping some snow that clung to the cold stone. "Come on, the garden is around the back."

Dassk did his best to keep his fur cloak closed tight as they walked through the wind. Fortunately, the howling torrent of air died as they braced themselves against the massive building. When they reached the back, he was amazed to find that Adara was no longer the only plant amidst this frozen waste.

The frost garden was beautiful. Its bright green field clashed magnificently with the white lifelessness of which it was surrounded. At its center was a giant chestnut tree, severely twisted with branches sprouting at unusual angles. It must have desperately fought to find warmth in this permanent winter. It had grown to be old and quite amazingly large, with its thick roots shaping the small field around it. Dassk smiled at the stubborn tree.

There was an old fence, made from rough wood that showed little sign of deterioration, crudely drawn up to make it look like a normal garden. It was sturdy despite years of constant bombardment from the snow and ice in the permanent winter. Draped atop the bed of the garden, flourished a swarm of red flowers. Dassk recognized them from his childhood, when the charr attacks dwindled after the winter raids, the fields outside Ebonhawke were littered with them. The unkempt garden was overrun by irises.

The creature that invaded the garden was at its center, by the stubborn twisted roots of the old chestnut tree, touching the trunk with one of its massive amethyst claws. The irises were undisturbed; the creature hovered above them.

Dassk approached the garden with little caution. He could sense Adara's hurt as he casually trampled the flowers on the outer edge. She frolicked about, gracefully avoiding them, dancing between patches, even hopping when necessary. The soft soil sunk easily beneath Arin's heavy stone feet.

"The irises are frightened," Adara warned Dassk. "It wants you."

"Does it?" Dassk retorted in amusement. He stepped forward. Nothing malicious could be read from the large jade creature.

"Be on guard," growled Arin. Dassk hesitated momentarily at the dwarf's warning.

The rocky figure slowly turned at the sound of new arrivals. Dassk confidently walked over to it. The creature's claw casually drifted over to Dassk and grabbed his wrist. Startled and confused, He tried desperately to pull away, but the creature's grip held tight, unmovable, despite a claw physically unattached to the rest of its bulky frame. Dassk struggled further, bracing his feet against the creature, and kicked out hard. The result of which nearly broke his wrist. Never had he felt such strength.

"Arrgh!" Arin cried out as he crashed into the monster. He knocked it back into the tree with a solid thud. An avalanche of leaves enveloped the ground as Dassk broke free and fell a few paces back. The purple giant easily picked Arin up and tossed him away like a children's doll no longer worthy of play. It turned its gaze back at Dassk. Six glowering eyes studied him with intrigue.

Adara stepped beside Dassk. The hulking jade construct ignored her and glided towards him. She placed up her hand and it stopped. "The creature wants you to meet with someone." She turned her head to the side. "Someone named Boltof."

Dassk scrambled to his feet, breathing excitedly. "I'm not sure I want to meet the person who would send such a colossal beast to abduct me." His words came out quickly, yet amazingly calm.

The Jade levitated back a couple of paces and then raced toward Adara, only to stop abruptly a couple of paces away. "I, for one, would not mind having a word with the person who sent this abomination to disturb the sanctity of this place." She turned away from Dassk and scowled at the creature. Although it appeared to be struggling and straining toward them, the powerful creature remained stagnant, and was unable to progress forward.

Dassk wanted a moment to think. He took a contemplative breath. "She's right lad." Dassk gave a quick turn to find Arin by his side. He was quicker and quieter than Dassk ever imagined stone capable. His coarse voice filled the bitter cold. "These things don't stop. They be slaves without thought. If it was ordered to bring you to someone then it will not stop until it has done so. It does not sleep; it does not rest."

Arin's rocky face formed into disgust. He nearly spat the last words out. "It just does as it's told." He paused and then sighed. "And I reckon this is not the only one that was sent for you."

Arin held rigid, pugnacious, shrouded by righteousness. Dassk was having difficulties reading Adara and this troubled him; she was getting weaker. He let out a long sigh, to calm his body and to cleanse his mind. He was cornered. Dassk never liked tight spaces. He reminded himself that he was no wolf, backed into a corner, snarling in fear, ready to go down fighting.

Dassk knew he would have to concede, but he would do so defiantly. Perhaps, at least, he could assert some small level of control. Arin did say these creatures did as they were told, and it still had no intention of harming him. It just wanted him to meet someone.

"Fine," Dassk barked at the Jade. "I will meet with this Boltof." Dassk looked to the edge of the small field. "There," he said, pointing to the giant monument. This master will know that he did not set all the terms of the meeting. Besides, he had to admit he felt a level of comfort there. It was as if it were welcoming him. Maybe it could somehow provide some level of protection as well.

Dassk winced as Adara dropped to her knees. Dassk eyed the towering jade floating motionlessly as he walked towards her. It was content with the arrangements of the meeting and felt little concern about the harm it may have caused. Its crystalline formation reconfigured and eased together. It felt accomplished.

"I'm fine," said Adara. Her words were weak and frail yet still cut like sharp ice. She had done something and it had drained her. He wondered what extent she would have gone to protect him. She continued to perplex him.

Adara gracefully accepted the hand Dassk offered her. She floated to her feet. "I am merely in need of water. And perhaps a bit of fresh light." She drifted towards the edge of the garden and buried her hands, grabbing a handful of snow. As she squeezed, the snow melted, seemingly, but its water did not drip to the ground. It simply disappeared. Dassk sent her a questioning glance.

"I will stay here with this fiend." Her words were confident and assuring. She no longer lacked in energy. Dassk dared not question her. "Take Arin into your building, I'll be along shorty. The jade and I have some things to discuss."

"Discuss," Dassk replied with a smug grin. "Yea, you do that."

"Come," Arin interrupted him. "I have been foolish and unprepared." This is the first time Dassk had seen him display anything that could be described as somber. "There are some things in the Hall that I should not have left."

The pair circled the building until they came to the giant doors at the front of the massive edifice. The door was frozen stiff once more. Dassk banged hard a few times and then gave it a half-hearted kick in despair. He took out his knife and began to chip at the ice that had amassed since the latest storm.

"Don't do that," Arin said. "It's just clogged." Arin cleared the snow beside the door until he found a small round window comprised of a thick layer of ice. Arin sent a quick jab right through the ice. Warm air rushed through the hole. Dassk put his hands up to it, momentarily enjoying the heat. "The caves below heat the Hall. Just give it a minute and the door will be as loose I felt after that norn ale.

When they entered the outer chamber, Arin wandered off without a word. Dassk decided that he would wait in the main chamber, with the old statues of the old heroes. He could hear clanging and scraping of metal from Arin in the other room. It sounded as if someone were going through and old shed, piled high and disorganized. Dassk passed the time by looking through old maps of fabled lands.

When Adara returned with the Jade, Dassk suppressed a smile. Adara was bursting with excitement, yet she actively restrained herself from gawking about like a youth, stumbling upon a foreign city. She managed to hold her face still, just as the solid Jade beside her; neither uttered a word. _What an interesting creature_, Dassk thought in approval.


End file.
